


Homesick.

by impracticallyperfect (whynotfour)



Series: Tom Holland and His Girl [4]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, tom holland - Fandom
Genre: F/M, I love Tom, let me look after you, so soft and fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 11:37:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11577291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whynotfour/pseuds/impracticallyperfect
Summary: Tom is on location after a hard day when he starts to miss his girl and begins to need a piece of her.





	Homesick.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for making you all wait for an update! Enjoy!

His body yearned to be touched following another gruelling rehearsal, grey jogging bottoms low on his hips and chest briefly concealed by a piece of Marvel branding as he pulled the fabric away from his damp skin. Sweat clung to the locks of hair escaping the hat on top of his head, pooling against the back of his neck as Tom let out a heavy sigh. It was wrong to imagine that it was her hands caressing his skin and not his own curls betraying his need to be touched. Three weeks had elapsed since they had last spent the night together, their home in London and her career keeping her from his side. Late night phone calls could only fake a certain sense of intimacy.

Tom cast his mind over the night before as he sunk onto the foot of the bed, tugging at the laces of his shoes and thinking of the look in her eyes as the FaceTime call had picked up. She had been busy decorating the spare room when he had begged to see her, unprepared in an old shirt with a lick of paint adorning her flushed cheeks as he spoke the nickname that usually caused sparks to flood her body. Even flustered and accompanied by the sounds of her guilty pleasure playlist she still made him long for the home that they’d built together.

He debated picking up his phone now, dialling the number that would connect him to her work phone and listening to her talk about something tedious that had a client near tears but thought twice as he caught his own eye in the mirror. It was greedy of him to need her attention like this. She had already moved her work calendar around to accommodate a flight to Atlanta next week. Just another six days, that’s all he had to survive and then she’d be there – eager to make up for lost time as always.

God, the things he would do to her. Tom’s eyes closed at the thought of her body pressed to his, full lips slick with the red tinted lip balm that had so often got them in trouble with wardrobe departments as it stained costume after costume. All he could picture was the trail it would leave down his body, over the soft curves of his abdomen to leave a perfect ring around his – No he couldn’t think of that it was practically torture to imagine the way that she could use that mouth of hers. His hands rubbed harshly at his eyes, staring at the ceiling and willing the stirring in his stomach to stop. How did she have this effect on him without even being on the same continent?

Tom felt his body stretch out, weary muscles straining against the fresh linens before his weight could reach his feet – flipping himself up to stand as he pushed off of the comforter. A shower would help to distract him; clean body, clean mind (or at least he hoped). The rental home’s tiles felt somewhat welcoming against his aching soles, the spontaneous tattoo on his left foot leading the way to the ensuite bathroom as he tried not to dwell on the failed landing that had nearly cost him his ankle. He was lucky to still be standing according to the stunt team and he laughed to himself as he pulled off the joggers. 

Lucky. That was Tom Holland to a fault.

Calvin Kleins stuck against his skin as he leant behind the glass to preheat the water, a tired but happy reflection meeting him in the mirror as he pulled back. Vanity was not something that Tom strived to avoid and now standing alone and close to naked, he felt exposed to his own eyes for the first time in a while. He couldn’t see the movie star that fans saw in his cheek bones or the heartbreaker that the paparazzi painted in his stance instead he saw Tom. Tom; the boy who worked his ass off to prove his worth. Tom; the boy who stayed up for hours on end critiquing his own performance. Tom; the ordinary boy who had stumbled into the chance of a lifetime. The Tom that she knew and loved. 

Steam started to fog his reflection and in a routine that was engrained into his being, he reached over the sink to draw a smile in the condensation. He was blessed.

The water absorbed his body in a way so welcoming that he found himself groaning, allowing it to cross over the ridges of his body like the shower gel he was working into lather. The bubbles washed over him as he massaged the gel into his skin, inhaling the sweet smell of citrus as he worked at the knots in his shoulders from stunt after stunt. Tom tried not to concentrate on how much more comforting this would feel if it was her nails dragging along his skin, manipulating his body under the water. He pretended not to hear the moans that left his own throat, the cry of her name as he hit a tender spot. The heat of the steam began to melt away his aches and pains, as he ran his hands along his body allowing it to cascade even further – wandering lower when he reached for her shampoo in the caddy. She loved to tease him about how much he loved her washing his hair, the gentle gesture always leading to him taking her over the bed in the most tender of ways whispering ‘I love you’s as they came undone.

A bubble framed like a rainbow leaked from the bottle as he drew in the scent of the liquid, watching it dance towards the spotlights in the ceiling as Tom conjured up memories of her hair thrown back behind her – dancing at a friend’s party, twirling around the kitchen as she fixed them dinner, spilling over his knees into his lap whilst they watched movies – the scent of coconut would never not remind him of her. Foaming between his fingers and sliding down the front of his hands as it escaped his palms, Tom chased it with his eyes down the tanned skin of his wrists watching it twirl down the drain. He tried to concentrate on the way that the bottle felt between his palms, sturdy and firm compared to the image that he was holding onto of her. Slowly he lifts his hand to his hair, rubbing it into his scalp so that at least for a night a part of her would be with him. He basks in the moment, the water running and his head tingling as he imagines the way that her lips curl and she exhales the words he loves to hear.

“I love you, Tom.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally been so sick I spent this week in hospital and all I could do is look at videos from the Expo and I am officially in love with Tom. As always please comment it really spurs me on and send me prompts too!


End file.
